


beauty in the wreckage

by softwareinstability



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Big Bang Fic, Friendship, Hank being supportive Dad, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, injuries, my titles are the worst, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwareinstability/pseuds/softwareinstability
Summary: My piece for the DBH Big Bang.Connor is making ends meet by participating in illegal fighting matches. His neighbour, Markus, works at the local hospital. More often than not, he's also the one patching Connor up after a fight.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 174
Collections: DBHBB





	beauty in the wreckage

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful whimsicalgoat made art for this BB fic, and you should definitely go and check it out here: https://whimsicalgoat.tumblr.com/post/622671357025648640/we-can-finally-post-all-the-work-we-put-into-the  
> and leave all the love! :)
> 
> Beta by the fantastic Friendly Neighbourhood Writer! 
> 
> Based on a moodboard I made for a request: https://rk1kmoods.tumblr.com/post/186522718814/right-so-hows-about-this-markus-and-connor-are
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_ Not again. _

Markus swapped the bag he was carrying to his other hand, watching Connor carefully while fishing out his keys.

"You okay?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Lifting his head like he'd just remembered where he was, Connor pushed against the wall to lift himself to his feet, wiping one sleeve-covered hand across his face. "Yeah. Sure, I'm okay."

"You don't look it. What happened?" Markus had heard countless excuses and reasons for the bruises and split lips, the bloody knuckles and the occasional concussion. None of them had ever rung particularly true, though just lately Connor seemed to have stopped trying.

Connor shrugged. "You know."

The problem was, Markus  _ didn't _ know, not entirely. He had his suspicions; he'd done his share of rotations in the E.R, he'd seen first-hand what a fist could do. He sighed, the bag drooping from his fingers. "Why don't you come in and I'll take a look?"

Markus went on in ahead of Connor, telling him to make himself comfortable on the couch and he'd be there in a minute. He put his groceries down, stealing glances at Connor as he did just to make sure he was still present. Reaching for the first aid kit he kept to hand; always well-stocked, purely because of Connor, he paused.

There was always a moment where he questioned himself. His motives. Was it fucked up that he  _ liked  _ being Connor's saviour sometimes, even if he couldn't quite reconcile that feeling with the probable reason behind Connor's injuries?

"You should leave roller-blading to the kids," he quipped as he perched on the edge of the coffee table opposite Connor. "Or wear more padding."

"I guess," Connor sighed. He looked tired, though the smear of blood drying hard across his cheek probably didn't help. "I'm sorry, Markus."

"What? Hey, no. Listen, it's alright." Markus touched Connor's sleeve, saw the soft, sad curve his lips made, though it only lasted a moment. "I'll clean you up first, okay? See what we've got to work with." Soaking some cotton balls with disinfectant, Markus chanced asking, "how'd you leave the other guy looking?"

Connor looked away, down. A flush of colour to his cheeks that Markus could see even under the blood.

"Come on, who am I going to tell?"

Connor pushed his hands together, staring at his swollen knuckles instead of looking back at Markus. With a sigh, Markus started cleaning the mess of Connor's face. "I don't know why you don't trust me-"

"I  _ do, _ " Connor protested. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

With a derisive laugh, Connor shook his head, making Markus pull his hand back quickly. "You can't help with this."

"You don't know that. Hold still."

Markus held Connor's jaw steady, trying hard not to look anywhere but at the wounds he was treating. There was a cut on his cheek where something sharp and rough-edged had opened the skin. Another above his eye, surrounded by an angry-looking smear of purple. Painful.  _ You should've gone to the hospital,  _ he wanted to say.

"I'm just trying to make rent," Connor said after a long minute's silence.

"What as, a stuntman?"

Again Connor laughed, though this one at least sounded genuine. Still, edged with bitterness. "Hmm, funny. Look, does it matter? Win or lose, I make  _ something. _ It's enough."

Markus' jaw tightened with the realization he'd been right. He really hadn't wanted to be right about this. "It's going to destroy you, some day. There has to be something else you can do."

Connor shook his head. "You think I haven't tried? This is what I'm good at-"

"I don't know about that. I think your blocking techniques could use some work."

"Asshole," Connor muttered, though it was without vitriol. The fight had gone out of him for the night, apparently.

Markus finished cleaning up, determining that the wounds were at least superficial enough not to require more than a couple of butterfly stitches. He checked for signs of concussion, finally giving Connor a couple of painkillers and the all-clear to head back to his own apartment across the hall.

"Please at least think about doing something else," he said, before Connor disappeared inside.

  
  
  


Markus hadn't seen his neighbour for a few days. Today, since he finally had a day off, he'd spent the morning in his tiny kitchen cooking meals for the week ahead, and had kept back half of the lasagne to take across the hall. He wanted to know that Connor was alright, and figured that a good meal wouldn't hurt.

Connor answered the door on the second knock, looking like he'd not been awake all that long. Markus almost reached to touch the murky-coloured bruises on his face, but stopped himself as Connor smiled, noticing the dish Markus was holding.

"I can't remember the last time anyone brought me food. Would you like to come in?"

"Uh, sure."

"Did you make that yourself?" Connor asked, closing the door behind them. "It looks fantastic."

"There's always too much just for me, I thought you'd appreciate some, and yes. Home-made."

Connor took the dish from him, placed it on the side, bending to lift the lid and smell it. "Wow. Heaven. Is there anything you can't do?"

Markus laughed, pleased that he'd thought of Connor, more pleased that it was so appreciated. "Plenty, believe me. I can't keep a houseplant alive, for one," he volunteered, moving towards the sea of foliage in Connor's kitchen window. "You have green fingers, huh?"

"Sure, when they're not black and blue," Connor said, looking away when Markus glanced back at him.

"Hey. It's not a forever thing, Connor. Is it?"

Connor only shrugged, and seemed to be seeking out a distraction, a way out of this conversation. "I was just about to make some pancakes. Would you like some? I know it's basically lunchtime, but I kind of overslept, so–"

Markus thought of the stack of laundry waiting to be properly folded and put away, back at his apartment. The reading he'd planned on doing, the groceries he needed to buy. But Connor looked so earnest, so in need of some company that wasn't going to try and beat the crap out of him, that–

"Sure. Pancakes sound great."

  
  
  


"Flat white for me, straight up black coffee, one green tea and one overly complicated fancy-ass drink for Simon," Josh said, handing out the cups.

"Ha ha. Thanks."

Markus peeled the lid off his drink and put it on the grass beside him, happily basking in the sun. It wouldn't last for long, he knew. But it was good now and then to snatch a few minutes with his friends.

He didn't realise how lost in thought he'd become though until Simon poked his shoulder.

"Earth to Markus?"

"What're you dreaming about?" North asked, then grinned. "Or should I ask  _ who _ ?"

"Connor," Markus answered, before he could stop himself. He heard Simon shift, interested.

"Connor, remind me. Does he work at the–"

"He's Markus' neighbour," Josh supplied. "Remember? The cute one with the big brown eyes and curls that won't quit?"

Markus took the ribbing, though he heard North's gentle murmur to Josh to stop. "It's okay, he's right. Connor is–" Markus sighed, stalling with a sip of his tea. He shrugged. "He's sweet. He's also kind of a hot mess and probably comes with a cargo hold  _ full  _ of emotional and psychological baggage. I don't know that I'm the right person to do much more than patch him up when he needs it."

"Which seems to be often," Josh reminded him.

"He must like you, _ and _ trust you, or he wouldn't even entertain the help you give him," North pointed out.

"I guess."

"So what in particular is it about this hot, hot mess that's eating you today?" Simon asked.

"I don't know. Well, no, he made me lunch the other day. It was nice, we actually  _ talked. _ "

"About your desire to suck face?" Josh laughed at the look Markus gave him, though he sobered when North elbowed him.

"They're taking it slow, which sounds like the best course."

"We're not–" Markus gave in, shaking his head. "He's like a bird with a broken wing. Fragile. However tough he thinks he is though, he's never going to get off the ground. The way he's going, he'll end up under it, and I don't want that. I don't think he does either, but it's like he can't see any way out."

"I'm sure if anyone can show him one, it's you. Don't underestimate yourself either, Markus. I'll bet you can get through to him. Then we can double date, sorry Simon."

"I happen to enjoy being single," Simon retorted. "Markus, your ass is buzzing."

"That'll be Redman. Better hoof it, see you guys later."

  
  
  


Markus blinked in the darkness, rolling slowly over to try and focus on the numbers glowing bright blue on his nightstand. He tried to remember if he'd been dreaming, though if he had been it was now nothing but a fog of broken sleep and annoyance. What had-

There was a muffled thump, followed by another. Three more in quick succession. Markus wanted to pull the covers over his head and just go back to sleep, but there was something at the back of his brain, like a needle scratching on a record.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming." Markus turned on a couple of lights as he went, squinting against the sudden brightness but hoping it would wake him up enough before he reached the door and unlocked it.

"You Markus?"

He didn't recognise the man holding his neighbour upright, and it took him a second to get past the fact of his name being known to this complete stranger.

"Are you Markus?"

"Yes. Is he-"

"He wanted to come here."

"Why didn't you call 911?"

The man looked at him like he was being dense. Markus figured that was understandable, but still there was this lingering annoyance at being woken in the middle of the night for something that really shouldn't have been brought to his doorstep.

"He wanted to come here, that's what he said. Hospitals ask too many questions, and-"

"He doesn't have insurance," Markus sighed, moving to one side. "Okay." He rubbed at his face, nodding. Resigned. "Okay."

Connor gave a hoarse groan as he was lowered to the couch, which Markus took as a good sign. At least if he was hurting, he was still with them. The man who'd brought him in lingered closeby, scrubbing at his short hair, eyes darting about the apartment. "Is he... Can you help him?"

"I'm going to do my best, alright? But I can only do so much here; I don't have an X-ray, or-"

"I was going to take him to my cousin's place, but he wanted to come here. Closer to home, or whatever. He wanted you, I guess. Just patch him up?"

Markus nodded, heading to the kitchenette to fetch out his kit. When he returned to the couch, the stranger was gone. " _ Great," _ he muttered. "Just... fucking perfect. Connor? Can you hear me?"

Connor moaned in response, started to try and sit himself up. Markus stopped him, a hand in the centre of his chest, and shook his head. "Stay where you are. Someone really went to town on you, didn't they?"

"'m sorry," Connor mumbled, the one dark eye that Markus could see already swimming. "Wasn't s'posed to go that way."

"It's okay. Can you tell me where exactly it hurts?"

"Most places," Connor replied, closing the eye that wasn't already swollen shut. Markus watched the track of his tear, his heart quietly breaking.

"Okay. I'll give you something for the pain in just a minute, I promise. I just need to make sure nothing's broken, first. Can you move your fingers for me?"

"It's not broken."

"I'll be the judge of that. You came to me for help, so let me help."

Markus worked as efficiently as he could, thankful that Connor at least was right about his bones. Badly bruised, for sure, but not broken. "So now will you listen to me when I tell you that you need to stop?"

Connor had pulled his knees up, had his good arm wrapped around them, an icepack resting on his swollen hand. He regarded Markus out of his one good eye, blinking slowly before he looked away. "I'm sorry," he said, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I had nowhere else to go. Sorry I woke you, sorry for all of this, I'm-"

"Hey." Markus placed his palm along Connor's jaw, as gently as he could. "Hey, just take a breath. I'm not mad, okay? This isn't out of my wheelhouse, you know? They let me do this kind of thing all day, so I must be pretty good at it."

"You are," Connor smiled, wincing as the movement pulled at bruise-stained skin.

"Yeah, I am. So I don't need apologies, alright? I just want to know that this is going to be the last time you do this. Because what if next time it's worse? There's only so much I can do here, Connor, and I can't be the one picking up the pieces if..." Markus stopped, biting his lip and looking away from Connor's eye. "Don't you care what happens to you? What's the point in making rent if you get killed in the process? And you  _ could, _ " Markus added, before Connor could protest. "I've seen it happen."

Connor didn't answer, and Markus looked back up to see that he was on the verge of tears all over again.

"What else is going on?" Markus asked, quietly letting his hand fall away from Connor's cheek.

"I should go. I'm sorry I brought this to you, I'll-" Connor didn't finish; he'd tried to stand up and stumbled. Markus caught him with a quick arm, and made him sit back down on the couch.

"You should stay right where you are. I'm going to give you a couple of pills and some water. I want you to take them, then you can make yourself as comfortable as you need, because you're not going anywhere yet. And I'll be right here."  _ We can talk in the morning. _

Subdued, Connor accepted the pills, though he didn't take them. Markus left the room only to come back with a blanket from his own bed, which he draped over Connor's stretched out form. It took mere minutes for Connor to drift off to sleep, but Markus watched him for a while longer before settling into the adjacent armchair. Some time later, he too fell into sleep.

  
  
  


When Markus woke up, he could smell coffee. Warm and sharp, it curled behind his eyes and the last of his dreams dissolved away. "Connor?"

"Morning," Connor's voice said.

Unfolding himself from the armchair, Markus grumbled at the various stiff pains in his neck and left knee, but stretched them out on his way over to the kitchen. Connor was leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in his uninjured hand. His eye was still half-closed, but the other was looking at Markus, halfway between amused and intrigued.

"I'm-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is going to be sorry, don't. I'm just glad you're okay. Glad I could help. Did you make coffee?"

"Yeah," Connor said, putting his mug down to pull another from the shelf. "Is that okay?"

" _ Is that okay? _ " Markus smiled, touching Connor's hip briefly as he leaned past to take the mug and fill it himself. "It's perfect, thank you."

"I should go soon," Connor said, his voice sounding strained.

"You can stay a little longer if you want. I'm starting a round of night shifts tonight, so I'm actually... I'm at home for the day. I'd like to take another look at your hand anyway."

"It's fine."

"Sure, but of the two of us, who's actually _ been _ to med school already?"

Connor pursed his lips, and nodded. "Alright."

Some minutes later, they were sitting at Markus' little table, a plate of toast cooling between them and Connor's hand laid across Markus' palm. "The swelling's mostly gone down, at least, but I'm going to re-dress it with a fresh bandage. It'll help. Let me do that now-"

"Why are you doing all of this?" Connor asked, effectively stopping Markus in his tracks.

"Because you asked for my help. So I'm going to do the best I can for you."

"I know, but  _ why? _ "

"What, you think I'm just going to send you back to your apartment to suffer alone? I'm studying to be a doctor, I wouldn't make a particularly good one if I did that, would I? So, let me wrap this up for you. I hope you're not planning any more fights any time soon."

Again, Connor got quiet, drew back into himself. They both jumped at a loud bang from outside the apartment, and Connor's eyes widened as he gave Markus a desperate look.

"What?"

More noises followed; shouts and crashes and glass shattering. Every sound made Connor shrink further still, his face paling. Markus was up and peering through the spyhole in his door. He grabbed his cellphone from his jacket pocket, which was when Connor stopped him. On his feet and one hand on Markus' arm, he hissed, " _ don't.  _ Please."

"Connor, why? You have to tell me what's going on."

"I can't. Just, can you get away from the door? Please, Markus."

"Fine. Okay. But you need to talk to me, or I can't help."

Connor nodded, though he didn't move. Just stood, listening the same as Markus was, until the sounds from across the hall finally stopped. They both heard rapid footsteps, a couple of shouts, then nothing else. Markus had another look through the spyhole, then carefully unlocked his door.

"What are you doing?"

"Apart from making sure they're gone?"

Connor rubbed at the back of his head, staring at Markus for a few moments before he gave a slight nod and came close again, shielding himself behind.

Connor's apartment door was hanging open, the frame splintered. Markus ventured further in, though Connor stopped in the doorway, pale.

"Who were those guys?" Markus asked, righting a lamp that was broken anyway. He noted with a heavy feeling that all of the houseplants had been swept off the ledge.

"Just some guys. I don't know their names– You don't have to do that, Markus," Connor sounded close to tears again, an edge of desperate shame to his voice. Markus carried on picking up pieces of the broken plant pots, regardless.

"I'm doing it anyway."

  
  
  


"Okay, I've left a message for a friend. He can probably fix your door, since you don't want me to call the police, or the building super." The two of them were sitting on the couch again, Markus with a roll of bandage that he was using to carefully bind Connor's hand. He glanced at Connor's expression, and shook his head. "I won't, though I still think you  _ should. _ "

"I wasn't supposed to win," Connor said, softly. "They didn't expect me to win."

"What, because you usually lose?"

"Maybe I should have. But–" Connor sighed heavily, watching Markus slowly wrap his hand. "I guess I saw red. All these rich assholes wanting to see blood,  _ my  _ blood. And for what?"

"Well I'm glad you saw sense on  _ that _ at least, but... Connor, there has to be something else."

"What else, now? I can't go back there, can I? They lost so much money betting against me, they'll kill me if they find me." Connor swallowed in a short, panicked breath. "I shouldn't stay here. What if they come back? You're–"

"I'm not going to kick you out. Your place is wrecked anyway, so there's no way you're going back there any time soon. And anyone who comes knocking at my door is going to regret it, okay?"

Connor blinked, his eyes looking wet and tired. "You can't–"

"I can and I will."

" _ Why? _ "

Markus paused, then wordlessly finished dressing Connor's hand, taping the bandage in place. "Because, Connor. What kind of a neighbour would I be if I just turned my back? What kind of a  _ doctor _ ?"

Connor nodded, saying nothing.

"Okay, all set. Do you need anything from your apartment? I'm pretty sure the coast is clear enough we can go across the hall and get you a few things. You can stay here tonight, you even get a comfy bed since I'll be at work." Markus didn't look Connor in the eyes as he spoke, worried about giving himself away. He was being an idiot, probably sounded like one too. What was he thinking?

"Maybe some fresh clothes would be good. Yeah. Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Let's go and do that, then– Right, I should make something to eat." The morning had very much gotten away from them, with everything that had happened. It was past time for lunch, and Markus would have to head out to the hospital in just a few hours.

  
  
  


Markus shouldered his bag and leaned against his locker for a minute, exhausted to his bones. He didn't particularly feel like getting back in his car and making the drive home, but–

Connor was there. God, he hoped Connor was still there.

He bought himself a coffee on the way out, put it on the roof of his car while he loaded his bag onto the back seat. When he straightened up again, there was somebody looking at him over the roof. He swore, taking a quick half step back.

"You Markus?" the man asked, gruffly.

Mind racing, Markus started to pull his car keys from his pocket, intent on getting away as quickly as possible because what if this guy was something to do with Connor's fights?

"Markus, Connor's neighbour? He said you worked at the hospital and drove a midnight blue sedan."

Markus' gaze shot up at that. "What did you do to him?"

"... _ do _ to him? What?" The guy seemed genuinely confused for a second, then just grunted. "Oh, man. No, you don't– I'm Hank. Hank Anderson, I'm a  _ cop,  _ son. Connor's... He's just someone I care about. I heard about what happened through the grapevine, so I called to check he was okay and he said 'yeah, I'm staying with Markus.' So naturally, I needed to know who the hell you are. You took care of him when he was hurt, huh?"

Markus' finger rubbed at the unlock button on his key fob, but he didn't feel as strong an urge to press it anymore. "He lives across the hall from me. I'd see him sometimes on my way in from a run and he'd be beat up, so... Yes, I took care of him. You're a cop?"

Hank gave him a tired look, and nodded. "I know what he's been doing, before you ask, or blame me for not stopping him or whatever it is you're thinking of right now."

"I'm not–"

"I asked that boy a dozen times to give it up, and I'm guessing my talks were about as effective as yours."

"He told me he did it to make rent, but... is there something else going on?"

Hank glanced around, and tapped the roof of Markus' car. "Why don't we go someplace else and talk? I could do breakfast right now, you? There's that diner a couple blocks away."

Markus considered the offer, and how tired he already was. What he really wanted to do right now was go home, crawl into his bed, and sleep for ten hours straight. And in his exhausted brain, there was the thought that it didn't even matter if Connor hadn't vacated the bed yet.

Swallowing guiltily – as if Hank could read his mind – Markus nodded. "Okay."

  
  
  


"Connor is a complicated kid," was how Hank began, once they were both seated. Markus didn't have much of an appetite any more, but he'd ordered a breakfast bagel all the same. Orange juice instead of coffee.

"Complicated how?"

"He had to take care of himself from a pretty early age, and when we met he wasn't doing the most spectacular job. You see how he is right now; trust me when I tell you he's actually gotten  _ better _ ."

Markus was spinning the salt shaker with his thumb, watching Hank at the same time. "How was it  _ worse _ ?"

Hank sighed, pouring creamer into his coffee. "We, uh... we met at an AA meeting, a couple of years back. So, yeah. Trust me, he was in a worse state then than he is right now."

"Was that why he started fighting, then?"

"Maybe it was a part of it. The cash would've helped fuel the addiction. But it was also a kind of full-time job for him; the kid's resilient. He can take his licks and keep going. Nobody would judge him on his bad habits, he wasn't going to get fired out of the blue. So he kept at it because it made him enough to get by. Once he cleaned up... I think maybe the fighting replaced whatever rush he used to get by other means."

Markus turned this new information over in his head, silent.

"He talks about you a lot, did you know that?"

"He does? Why?"

Hank shrugged, glancing out of the window. "Maybe you should ask him that. Just..." Here, Hank's gaze returned to Markus, and there was a dark edge to it that made him shiver. "Be careful with him. He's not as tough as he makes out he is."

"I'm aware of that, and I've always been careful with him," Markus protested.

"Because you like him," Hank murmured, before he shook his head. "Listen, I'm not here to play Cupid, I'm not here to give you some kind of shovel talk. Connor's his own man and he'll do whatever he wants to do regardless of what I say."

"I know. I've tried to talk him out of the fights; it doesn't work."

"He just needs something better." Hank smiled, and Markus  _ knew _ what he was hinting at, but what was he supposed to do about it? Connor trusted him. He wasn't about to risk losing that trust, however tempting it might be.

"Right now what he needs is to know that those guys who trashed his apartment aren't coming back. He's pretty terrified."

Hank gave Markus a critical look, making him wonder if it was obvious that Connor wasn't the only one who was worried they'd come back. "I'll see what I can do about that. It'll be tough to pin them down for it unless Connor files a report. The fighting ring, though... That's a whole other ball game. I've been trying to talk Connor into giving these guys up for a couple months now, but he won't. He's afraid, like you said." Another look, and Markus could guess at what was coming.

"I can try talking to him," he offered, before Hank could ask.

"That might work. Like I said, he likes you, he'll probably listen to you more than me."

Markus hadn't intended on asking, but since Hank had brought it up again, he gave in to curiosity. "What exactly has he said?"

Hank, lifting a forkful of bacon to his mouth, grinned. He didn't answer until he'd thoroughly chewed and swallowed his food. "That you're gentle, a good doctor–"

"I'm not really a doctor  _ yet, _ " Markus protested.

"–and something about your eyes he told me never to repeat."

"My eyes?"

Hank shrugged, pointing his fork towards Markus. "They're... you know, like they are. He, uh, he phrased it some other way. Boy's got some way with words. Point is," Hank continued, stabbing at his bacon again, "maybe you can get through to him somehow. Just don't get his hopes up if there's nothing... y'know.  _ There. _ "

Markus took a bite of his bagel, staring at the rest of it while he chewed, thinking over everything Hank had just told him. He still wasn't sure what it all meant, and certainly didn't think Connor would listen to him just because he had nice eyes. But he had to try, didn't he?

"Is there?" Hank prompted, bringing Markus back out of his thoughts.

"You're right, I... I like him. There's a sweetness, under all that armour he wears." Markus shrugged, eyes going back to his plate. "But I'm not sure I'm what he needs."

"That, I can't tell ya. You'll figure it out."

"Maybe you could come see him? I'm heading home right after this, I can-"

"I'm going to sit this one out for now, kid."

Hank didn't say much more than that while he finished his breakfast. He asked about Markus' studies, about when he knew he wanted to be a doctor, what area he was hoping to specialize in. They skirted the topic of Connor and any possible attraction until Markus was ready to head back to his car.

"It won't be easy," Hank told him.

"Like you said, I'll figure it out."

It might be a lot later on in the day before Markus started to actually  _ do  _ the figuring out, but he would. Tiredness was seeping back in past the soft, lingering buzz the coffee had given him. At least it wasn't a taxing drive home.

  
  
  


Connor was already up when Markus made it back to his apartment. He looked small and slightly out of place in the middle of the couch, knees up under his chin and teeth worrying at a thumbnail.

"Hey," Markus greeted him, dropping his bag under the coat rack. "How did you sleep?"

"Okay," Connor said, unfurling. "Can I make you some tea? Did you eat this morning?"

Markus shook his head, walking into Connor's path so that he stopped, took a step back. "I'm fine. Sit back down, alright? I'm okay. How are you feeling, how's the pain?"

Connor looked down at his bandaged wrist, and one shoulder lifted. "It doesn't hurt so bad. Are you sure you don't want some tea?"

"I'm good. I can get it, you should be resting that up." Markus laid his hand on Connor's shoulder, gentle pressure making him sit back in the spot he'd vacated. "You don't need to take care of me, you don't owe me. I'll make us both some tea. Have  _ you  _ eaten?"

"I'm not hungry," Connor said, looking like he was holding his breath. Markus could feel himself being watched as he crossed into the kitchenette and started taking things out of the cupboards, the fridge.

"You should eat anyway. I'm going to give you some more of those painkillers, so you need to eat."

"How was your shift?" Connor asked, making Markus pause in what he was doing. Had anyone really ever asked him that before? Like that, like they were  _ interested  _ in hearing the answer?

"It- It was fine. I didn't come out with someone else's bodily fluids on my clothes, so I consider it pretty successful."

Markus looked over, across the worktop to where Connor was looking back at him, half-turned on the couch to see. The sight made his breath catch, and he felt himself flush with colour, immediately focusing all of his attention on the eggs he was beating instead. Safer.

"Does that happen a lot?" Connor asked.

"What?"

"With the... fluids."

"Some rotations are worse than others," Markus replied tactfully, then, "god, I should have asked how you like your eggs. I'm sorry, I'm making–"

"Whatever is fine, honestly. Are  _ you  _ okay? You seem..." Connor trailed off, apparently at a loss for how to finish.

"I'm good. Night shifts, you know, they just take some time to come down from. So, I'm going to make this, get you those painkillers and after that, I'll probably head to bed. Are you, uh, I mean, what are you going to do today?" Markus could feel that colour coming back into his cheeks, and wondered just how he was going to get through any of this. He'd been fine not knowing that Connor was possibly attracted to him, too.

"I'll probably go and clean up my apartment some more. I don't know. I don't know what to do, not about any of this." Connor groaned quietly, pulling his head down again. "What if they come back?"

"I don't know," Markus answered, honestly. He stared at the griddle, knowing that what he  _ should  _ do was go over there and offer Connor more comfort than he was right now. But with the way he was feeling, he'd be too apt to go too far with it. "You can stay here with me for now, though."

Connor's only reply was a soft hum of assent, but it was enough.

  
  
  


Markus found it difficult to fall asleep; he kept hearing the quiet sounds of movement from beyond his bedroom door and found himself picturing Connor out there. Comfortable and at home, and at any moment liable to come in through that door and ask Markus why he wanted him here so badly.

Of course he drifted off eventually, exhaustion getting the best of him. When he woke, it was to the smell of something cooking. A glance at his phone told him it was almost three in the afternoon, which gave him only a few hours before he had to head back to work. Being on night shift had never particularly bothered him before, but with Connor in his apartment, he was finding it difficult to want to leave. He had a real chance to spend more time with his neighbour, but couldn't. It was frustrating.

Markus rubbed at his face, rolling up to sit on the edge of the bed, muttering at the loss of warmth as his duvet fell away. He was  _ definitely  _ not thinking about how he could smell Connor on his sheets when he'd got into bed. On his way out of the room, Markus caught sight of his shadowy reflection in the mirrored closet door. What Connor possibly saw him in – aside from his nice eyes, according to Hank – he didn't know. He wasn't sure when there might be a good time to find out, if ever. Was it even something he  _ should _ pursue?

Connor was saying something as Markus approached, but whatever it was it got lost when he turned around. His gaze flicked down, then up again, and he turned right back around to face the stove.

"You should be resting," Markus told him, automatically.

"I don't need two hands to cook," Connor replied. "It's just a quick stir fry, is that okay? I had some stuff in my refrigerator, figured I'd use it."

"You're amazing," Markus sighed, quickly moving to take out dishes and try to cover up what had just slipped out. "Sorry I slept so long."

"Why? This is your apartment, Markus. Your life I'm intruding on, it's-"

"You're not," Markus said, firm. "I don't mind you being here, not one bit. So stop thinking like that right now."

"Alright, but we both know I can't stay here forever. I have to do something about all of this; it's my mess. I need to clean it up the best I can. I need... To clean  _ myself  _ up. I know that."

"It might be easier with some help, don't you think?" Markus thought of Hank then, and what he'd said that morning. Hoped that enough  _ would  _ be done so that Connor would feel safe again. "I told you already, if there's something I can do to help out, I'll do it."

" _ Why? _ " Connor asked, again.

Markus stared at him, not sure what to say for a couple of seconds. "Because. Nobody should ever feel like they're worth less than they are, and from what I've seen... That's exactly how you feel. You have value, Connor. You're more than this, I promise you."

Connor fell quiet at that, poking at the contents of the pan he was cooking in. "Okay," he said, finally. Decisively.

  
  
  


It had been three days. Three days of Markus sleeping in a bed that smelled like Connor when he finally got into it, three days of waking up to Connor making him food and asking about his shift. Three days of biting his tongue not to let words slip out that might send Connor running.

He ran from his car to the front door of his building, trying and failing to avoid getting too wet in the rain. Muttering to himself, he climbed the stairs to his floor, his heart bottoming out when he saw a familiar sight.

"Connor? What are you doing out here in the hallway?"

The dark head lifted slowly, sluggish, and Connor looked out at him through puffy, wet eyes. He was shivering, his clothes looking like they'd been soaked through and were still not dry. More worrying to Markus was the way he was holding himself, stiff against the wall and his jaw set against obvious pain.

"Let's get you inside, alright honey?" Markus almost caught the slip, but he was so tired that whatever thin filter existed between his brain and his mouth, it wasn't working. Still, Connor didn't seem to have noticed. Adjusting his bag, Markus leaned to work one arm around and beneath Connor's to help him to his feet, only then noticing the blood.

  
  
  


Markus exited his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him, and surveyed the mess strewn across the coffee table, the bloodied towels on the couch, dressing wrappers on the floor. Beyond the blinds, the sky was murky; rain still pelted the windows making a kind of white noise that started to clamour along with everything else in Markus' brain. So, he cleaned. He tidied the mess and washed away the blood, disinfecting every surface that he could. He peeled off his shirt and threw it in the machine, his jeans following.

His finger was on the button, but he didn't press it. His mind was drifting, vision starting to swim as he stared at the washing machine. What was he  _ doing?  _ He should have taken Connor to a hospital, he should have  _ insisted _ . They could have figured something out.

There was blood on his wrist, he noticed, and he remembered Connor grabbing him while he'd been trying to stitch. The bone-white of his skin, how terrified his eyes had been. And he'd wanted to ask,  _ who did this?  _ To  _ beg  _ Connor to just let him call the cops, call Hank, ask anyone for help. Someone better equipped to do so than he was himself. Instead, he'd just pushed his fingers through Connor's hair and murmured words of comfort until he'd calmed enough to let Markus finish working.

Unsure how he'd wound up on the kitchen floor, Markus could hear the washer filling behind him. He leaned back against it, brought his knees up and hugged them to him.

He needed to shower. He needed to clean the morning off of him and get some  _ sleep.  _ But he couldn't move.

  
  
  


"Markus?"

Markus lifted his head too quickly, his skull thumped against the washing machine and he swore, immediately lifting his hand to feel around and check for damage. He was okay. Blinking, he let Connor come into focus, and shook his head.

"You shouldn't be up, what are you doing?"

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?" Connor retorted, lightly holding his side. "Need a hand up?"

"No. No, honey, I've got it," Markus said, turning enough he could reach up and grab the edge of the worktop to haul himself up by. "You're going to pull those stitches, you should be–"

"I was worried about you."

Markus swallowed, staring at him. "You shouldn't. I'm fine. Please, at least go and sit." He wasn't sure how long he'd been out for, but the way the light slanted through the blinds was telling him it was already after noon. How?

Connor wasn't moving, and Markus could see now that he'd been crying. He looked away, not sure of what to say.

"I'm sorry–"

"Don't," Markus muttered.

"I can go."

"I don't want you to go. Where would you go anyway?" Markus regretted the words as soon as he'd said them, seeing Connor's face fall.

"They got their pound of flesh, Markus. I doubt they want anything else from me now; I'll go home and stop bringing this to your door. Thank you, for last night. I promise it'll be the last time."

"You don't know that," Markus sighed, closing his eyes so tightly for a second that spots danced in his vision when he opened them again. "You're safe here. _Safer_. I–" Markus shivered, realising once again that he was wearing next to nothing. "Listen, right now I really need a shower. I'll be five minutes, _don't_ – Don't go anywhere, Connor."

Connor had been staring at the floor, but now he looked up, eyes meeting Markus' for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

  
  
  


Feeling something like human again, Markus made his way back out into the lounge, hoping that Connor would still be there, even if he had no idea of what he was going to say to him.

"How are you feeling?" His go-to question, it seemed, and the first thing that came to mind when he saw Connor all but curled up on his couch.

"Sore. Again. I'm sorry, Markus."

"Stop. Please. It's okay, I get it. I'm the safest option. But you have to tell me what happened." Maybe he could get in touch with Hank again somehow, enlist his help. Connor at least trusted the man, after all.

"It's not just that," Connor protested. "Yes, you're... You make me feel safe. And I told you what happened. They got what they wanted, I'm done. I just don't have any idea what the hell comes next. This was the only thing I was–" Connor stopped that statement in its tracks, at the warning look Markus gave him. "The only thing I thought I could do and do well. But you seem to think otherwise, and... I don't know, I trust you. Like I said, you make me feel safe."

"How can you say that? Look at you, I haven't done a good job of keeping you safe at all." Markus dropped to sit on the other end of the couch, still feeling exhausted. Aching, himself.

Connor was quiet for a while, until Markus heard movement, felt him move closer. A comforting hand on his shoulder, which made some kind of incredulous laughter bubble up, though it caught in his throat. Connor was comforting _ him?  _ "I'm still here because of you. You've done more for me than I can ever thank you for."

"Connor–"

"You  _ have. _ "

"Okay." Connor's hand stayed where it was for several beats longer, before Markus felt him pull back.

"I should go. Thank you, Markus. Everything you've done, everything you  _ did  _ last night. I'll figure out a way to repay you, I swear."

"You're in no state to be–"

"No offence, but have you looked in the mirror yet today? And  _ I'm  _ the one who got stabbed. I'll be okay, I'm going to go sleep in my own bed so you can have yours back. I've got a friend I can call."

Markus hoped Connor meant Hank. He'd said he didn't have all that many friends, didn't he? "Alright. Just, please be careful. I'll check in with you."

"I know."

  
  
  


Markus came home from his Thursday shift to Connor waiting outside his door. At least he was upright and didn't look even half as bad as he had those few short days ago. He smiled when Markus said his name, and god wasn't that the sweetest sight?

_ Snap out of it, Markus. _

"Everything alright?"

"Kind of," Connor said, glancing toward the open door of his own apartment. Markus could see a few boxes stacked on the floor just inside the entryway, and raised an eyebrow. Connor shrugged, looking embarrassed, and sighed before explaining. "I'm moving out. Staying with someone for a while, just until I get things figured out."

"Oh?"

"He says you met, actually."

"Right."

Connor nodded. "He's been... there for me, before. I just thought, I can't stay in the apartment. I don't really have a job anymore, so it's really just a matter of time before they kick me out anyway, right? But, uh, anyway. Hank said... He  _ suggested  _ that we go to dinner. He wants, and  _ I  _ want, to say thanks. So is tonight good, or are you working, or? We can do it another time, whenever really."

Markus hadn't seen Connor stumble over his words quite this much before, and wondered if he was imagining the apparent nervousness in his voice.

"Tonight is okay. I'm not back in work for a couple of days now, so tonight's good. The three of us?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay," Markus assured him, even if he was a little disappointed that this clearly wasn't a date. "Just tell me when and where, and if you need any help with those boxes?"

"It's good; Hank's on his way. I'll talk with him and text you by four, but right now... You should rest." Connor's hand lifted a little, an unreadable expression flitting across his face before he seemed to catch himself, hand dropping back to his side. "I'll see you tonight, Markus."

With those words, Connor went back into his own apartment, pushing the door closed behind him. Markus stared after him for a few seconds, trying to work out what exactly all that was about. Connor had been right, though. He  _ was  _ tired. His bed was calling to him, and he'd need to sleep if he was going out later.

  
  
  


Connor and Hank were already seated by the time Markus made it to the restaurant. They looked deep in conversation, but when Connor spotted him it seemed to end abruptly, and he smiled, waving Markus over.

"Did you get enough sleep?" was the first thing that he asked, a question that made Markus pause before he sat in the empty seat opposite Connor. It reminded him of all the other times Connor had checked in with him.

"I look that bad?" he asked, immediately embarrassed because  _ wow, way to fish for compliments, Markus. _

Connor gave him a shy smile and shook his head, and there followed a not exactly awkward few moments of silence, but neither of them seemed to know what to say. It was fortunate then that Hank was there, even if he looked like he wanted to knock their heads together.

"Well, I'm starving, I don't know about the two of you. What's everyone having?"

  
  
  


"So how much longer do you have until you're like a full-on doctor or whatever?" Hank asked, dipping his fry in some ketchup.

"I have about eight months left of my residency, so... I guess I'm almost there. It's within sight." Markus breathed a heavy sigh, the implications of that finally hitting him. He'd spent so many hours studying, practising, working towards this goal, and it was in sight. It was hard to believe he was so close now.

"Wow," Connor breathed. "That's amazing, Markus. You'll be incredible at it, I know you will."

"Thanks." Markus looked away from Hank to see Connor smiling at him, a warmth in those eyes that he hadn't really experienced yet, or at least not to this extent. It was both humbling and oddly satisfying. "I hope so."

"I'm sorry we're not going to be neighbours anymore."

Surprised, Markus glanced at Hank again to see him not even trying to hide a smirk. "Yeah, me too."

"Come on, you're not going to miss having to patch me up every other night, are you? Really?"

"Maybe I am," Markus admitted, having to roll his eyes at himself. He turned his concentration back to the piece of chicken on his plate, and wondered what Hank was thinking of him right now.

"Huh," was all Connor said in response. "I thought you hated it."

"The reason for it, sure."

He knew Connor was still watching him. He didn't know what else to say that wouldn't get him into awkward waters, so he kept quiet.

"Well, that's all in the past now, thank god. I wish it had been sooner, but–"

"Yeah," Connor said, agreeing with Hank. "Now I just have to figure out what to do with the  _ rest  _ of my life."

"One step at a time, kiddo."

"I know."

"Good. So, who wants dessert?"

  
  
  


Markus pulled the receipt from his wallet again. Connor's number was scribbled on it in pencil, he'd given it to Markus before they'd parted ways the other night. _ Keep in touch, _ he'd said. Markus had spent all his time since trying to figure out exactly what that meant.

"Just call him," Josh advised, from across the table. His smile widened, and a moment later North was leaning over him, dropping a kiss to his temple before she slipped into the seat beside him.

"Has he still not?" She asked.

"He keeps mumbling something about missed opportunity and it being too late," Josh told her, pushing a coffee towards her.

"Bullshit, it's never too late. Thank you, you're too good to me."

"Mm, you're better."

Markus watched his friends with only mild envy, until they both looked back at him.

"What exactly are you waiting for, Markus?"

"I don't know if it's really what he wants, or just what he thinks  _ I  _ want. I mean, face it, I've seen him at his absolute worst, you really think he's not going to think I'm... I don't know, exploiting that vulnerability?"

Josh lifted one eyebrow, and turned to North. "Please talk some sense into this idiot."

"I'll do my best. So, he gave you his number," North said. "He made you pancakes in the middle of an ordinary day. He's cute, he seems to like you more than a neighbour reasonably would, and  _ he gave you his number. _ Call him, ask if you can see him. If you don't want to ask him out on a date before you talk to him, just... I don't know, tell him you want to check how he's doing. Make sure he's healing okay."

Markus mulled that over. North had a point, and her idea seemed sound enough. At least if he could talk to Connor alone without a buffer or Connor requiring medical attention, they might reasonably figure some things out.

"Fine. But I'm going outside to call him."

  
  
  


Connor had, it turned out, been pleased to hear from Markus, and more than amenable to meeting up on a Sunday afternoon. He looked better, already. Like he'd been sleeping enough and eating properly. His face seemed to light up when he spotted Markus, which was a good sign. Right?

"Good to see you without a black eye," Markus joked, immediately regretting the words. Still, Connor didn't flinch, his smile didn't slip. Markus apologised all the same, letting Connor sit before he returned to his own seat.

"It's okay. You were right, I was stupid. Reckless."

"Still, I wish you'd never been hurt like you were. Though I'm glad I was there when– I mean. Well, you know."

"Me, too." Connor smiled, sweet and almost bashful, making Markus feel a sudden need to sit on his hands before he reached across the table and did something dumb.

"So, uh, I ordered us a couple of hot fudge sundaes to go. I thought we could walk?"

"Alright, sounds good. Where are we walking to?"

"Wherever you want."

Connor pulled at his lower lip with his teeth, then looked up into Markus' eyes. One, then the other. "Your apartment?"

Markus tried not to read too much into that. "Sure."

Along the way, Connor spoke about a couple of job interviews he had coming up. He didn't sound particularly hopeful about either prospect, but he said it was at least a start.

"Honestly I don't care what I do, I just need something. I can't just leech off of Hank forever, you know?"

"I'm sure he doesn't see it that way. He genuinely cares about you, Connor, and he's not the only one who does." Markus dipped his spoon into the by now gooey mess of his sundae, mostly to avoid looking at Connor. "You know, if you really don't mind the work and the...  _ fluids, _ " Markus began, with a grin at that choice of word, "the hospital I'm at is always crying out for janitors. Honestly, it's those guys who do more to keep the place running as it should."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Criminally underrated. My first summer job was overnight cleaning at a clinic, I know  _ exactly  _ how important it is."

"Maybe I'll look into it. Thanks, Markus."

Connor was looking at his old front door when Markus glanced back at him. He fished out his keys, holding his almost empty ice cream tub between his teeth.

"Miss it?"

"I know I'm safer out of it, and I couldn't afford the rent right now anyhow, but– Yeah, a little. I guess I mostly miss–" Connor stopped, staring at Markus with the twitch of a smile. "You, uh. Have a, um, a mustache."

"Huh?" Markus realised then that the edge of the tub had chocolate sauce all around it. He started trying to lick it off, but knew it was probably getting him nowhere. Inside the apartment, he threw the tub in the trash and grabbed a paper towel, able to hear Connor laughing softly but sympathetically all the while. "Thanks."

"For what?" Connor asked, finishing the last of his sundae.

"Not letting me walk around with a chocolate mustache for the rest of the day? Which makes you a better person than a couple of high school friends I can think of. So apart from job-hunting and a lack of privacy, how are you doing? Everything’s healing up?"

"I'm fine. You can take a look for yourself, if you want."

Markus paused, where he'd been drying his mouth. "I believe you," he said, internally kicking himself at the same time.

"Maybe I don't believe myself." Connor was giving him that look again, and it was making the back of his neck tingle.

"Do you want me to check you over?" He asked, after a long moment.

"I always think it's best if you go back to your original doctor."

"I'm not a doctor yet," Markus reminded him, leaning back against the worktop behind him.

"I really need you to make the first move here," Connor said, his voice so soft that Markus wasn't sure he'd heard right. "I thought– I thought you were going to.  _ So  _ many times before, but–" He rolled his eyes, started to say something else until Markus surprised them both by closing the distance between them, pressing his mouth to Connor's. Firm, hungry, until he caught himself and eased up, though his knuckles were still white, curled over the edge of the cabinet he'd pushed Connor into.

"Fuck, I'm sor–"

" _ No.  _ Don't, I'm–" Connor was flushed, flustered, but he was still right there. The fingers twisted up in Markus' sweater were pulling him  _ in. _

_ Oh. _

"I was going to take you out to dinner. For drinks or something, first. Before this, but god, Connor. Even broken and bloody you were always beautiful." Markus felt his throat grow hot. It was a past shame and possibly no longer relevant, but he said it all the same. "I was an asshole for wanting you then–"

"No you weren't. You aren't." Connor shook his head, curling his fingers tighter. He was staring at them, but soon looked up into Markus' eyes. His expression softened, the blooming pink on his cheeks making Markus want to kiss him again. Again. "You were nothing but sweet to me when all I did was bring trouble to your door. I've never deserved you, I don't think, but here I am. Wanting you more than I've ever wanted anything or anyone else in my life."

Connor kissed  _ him  _ then, lips much softer, shyer. Still, there was a certainty to it at the same time that was as humbling as it was arousing. "You taste like chocolate," he murmured, lifting both hands to stroke along Markus' jaw, behind his ears and over his scalp.

"And you're still beautiful," Markus told him, unable to stop the slow droop of his eyes as Connor stroked the back of his neck. "This isn't fair. You know, you’re–"

Connor made a pretty sound, and glanced down between them. "So are you," he breathed. "What isn't fair?"

"This. I don't know. Come here." Markus kissed the bridge of Connor's nose before he eased their mouths together again. He didn't want to stop kissing Connor, he thought. Not now. Not ever.

  
  
  


"This wasn't exactly what I'd planned, by the way," Connor murmured, sliding his bare leg along Markus'.

"All I'd planned on was ice cream. This is better, though. Isn't it?"

Connor laughed, lazily dragging his fingertips across Markus' chest. "Infinitely. You are."

"So, it's healing well. You'll hardly notice the scar."

"When did you–?"

"When I was on the way down." Markus tried to be serious, saying that, but he felt Connor's body hitch against his and just joined in, laughing as well. It was surreal and slightly ridiculous, how they'd got here. Not just today, but through every previous interaction.

"Mmh, that was a particular highlight for me, for sure."

"And for me," Markus agreed, fingers idly drawing patterns over Connor's back. "Can you stay? Or–"

"I'll stay. Are you buying dinner?"

"I think I can rustle up a pizza delivery."

"That sounds  _ excellent. _ "

  
  
  


**O N E Y E A R L A T E R**

"What happened to your lip?" Markus asked immediately, reaching to cup Connor's chin and take a closer look.

"Student. How was your shift?"

Markus smiled, wondering if he'd ever get tired of the way it made him feel when Connor asked him such a simple question. It always reminded him of the first time, and though there was pain and blood in those memories, somehow they were still good. Look how far they'd both come, after all. "Unusually quiet. We made the most of it, though. What happened with the student?"

"Enthusiastic sparring." Connor grinned, wincing as it pulled his lip. "You'll just have to find other places to kiss me, I guess."

"I'm sure I can think of a few. I'm just... Happy, that the gym's working out."

"Me too. I'll tell them not to aim for the face next time."

"I do love your face," Markus agreed, solemnly. "Did you order already?"

"Hot fudge sundaes are in progress." It had been Connor's suggestion, when they'd both realized a week ago how rapidly they were approaching a year of being together. Sundaes first, pizza later. Markus had made sure to put in a couple of extra shifts purely so that they could have the time together.

"You're amazing."

Connor leaned into Markus' side, pressed a damp kiss to his jaw. "I know." He stilled there for a second, then drew back slowly, looking at Markus anew.

"What?" Markus asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Connor seemed unconvinced.

"I'm not sure. I was about to ask you the same thing."

"It's nothing. Yet. Just thinking."

Connor gave him an indulgent smile, evidently happy enough not to question any further for the moment. A few minutes later their order was called, and the ice cream was a fresh distraction.

Markus had wanted to walk home just like they had the first time they'd done this, but the early Fall shower put paid to the idea. Instead they took refuge in Markus' car, Connor deliberately driving him crazy with his contented little sighs of pleasure at each new bite.

Keeping his hands on the wheel and off Connor on the drive home was a challenge, for sure.

"Okay, what?" Connor asked, once they were back in the apartment. "You're like a big ball of nervous energy right now, what's going on?"

"Other than needing you very naked like ten minutes ago?"

"Yes, aside from that," Connor said, laughing because Markus was indeed handsy and undressing him rapidly. "Markus–"

"Mm?"

"What were you thinking?"

"I– Just that– You'd make someone an amazing husband, someday. Hopefully me."

Markus blinked at the hand on his chest, which was pushing him just far enough away that Connor could see his eyes.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"Okay. I mean, wait, no. Ask– Ask me properly."

"Sure, I guess I was about to go to my knees anyhow..."

" _ Markus. _ "

Markus shook his head, his smile wide as he dropped to one knee. Connor watched him, a warmth to his skin, hair disheveled and affectionate amusement in his eyes.

"You know it's kind of fitting that you look like you've been in a fight right now–" Markus stopped, took one of Connor's hands in his. He was trembling, the moment apparently sinking in completely. "I just mean, I fell for you when you looked the worst you ever have. Also, the best. This past year I've only fallen harder and further for you and I'll happily fall forever if you'll grant me that. Will you? Marry me?"

Connor swallowed, lifted one shoulder. He was still vibrating, Markus felt it. "Sure, why not?" He grinned, bending to kiss the top of Markus' head. "I'd be mad not to.”   
  
Markus surged to his feet, needing Connor in his arms. “You absolutely would.”

“I’ll marry you. I love you."


End file.
